


Strange Travels

by draconicsockpuppet



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dimension Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draconicsockpuppet/pseuds/draconicsockpuppet
Summary: In the simple stone room, hanging above the half-rotted floor planks, a silver ring of light punched through the very fabric of reality. On the other side gleamed the lake of Avalon."Five gates to the spirit world," Merlin murmured to himself."Is this one of them?" Gwaine asked.Merlin shook his head. "I'm not sure what it is." He cocked his head, considering the gateway. It seemed… like the sort of hole he could punch through space and time with his own magic, actually."Oh no," Gwaine said."It's an adventure," Merlin said, and then he smiled, slow and sly.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chill Winter Exchange 2020





	Strange Travels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kj_feybarn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_feybarn/gifts).



In the seventh year of King Arthur's reign over a united Albion, his court sorcerer Merlin, Lord Emrys of the druids, rode out from Camelot with his boon companion Sir Gwaine of Lothian at his side. It was a warm spring day to travel north, clouds in the sky, with rain misting around them and the roads all muddy. The last frosts had passed, the people of Camelot were neck-deep in planting, and in the woods the druids plied their magics to bring health and wealth to all the people of Albion.

The last bastion of drought lay in Elmet, the so-called Perilous Lands once held by the Fisher King, though even the land there had begun to recover from its long blighting. Merlin and Gwaine rode without ceasing to the very bounds of the Perilous Lands and there dismounted to lead their horses over the bridge, the only safe entry to Elmet.

"Halt," called out Grettir the bridgekeeper as they reached the far side of the bridge.

"What's this?" Merlin's power lay on him like a thick cloak; he bowed to none but King Arthur and the gods themselves, and that rarely. "Is there danger?" At his side, Gwaine put hand to sword-hilt.

Grettir shrugged. "Perhaps, my lord. The tower is lit by strange lights at night. I cannot venture near enough to tell what may be within." He waved a hand at the sky; wyverns swarmed throughout the Perilous Lands, and only Merlin's voice could subdue them.

"I see," Merlin said. "Very good." And as Grettir bowed, Merlin and Gwaine mounted their horses and rode on once more.

The sun hung low on the western horizon as they reached the crumbling tower that had once been the Fisher King's prison. Indeed, a light shone from the highest window of the tower, just as Grettir had said. The two exchanged a long look. Merlin called a ball of bright white light to his hand, Gwaine drew his sword, and together they ascended the twisting, uneven stairs, flight after flight until at last they reached the top.

In the simple stone room, hanging above the half-rotted floor planks, a silver ring of light punched through the very fabric of reality. On the other side gleamed the lake of Avalon.

"Five gates to the spirit world," Merlin murmured to himself.

"Is this one of them?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin shook his head. "I'm not sure what it is." He cocked his head, considering the gateway. It seemed… like the sort of hole he could punch through space and time with his own magic, actually.

"Oh no," Gwaine said.

"It's an adventure," Merlin said, and then he smiled, slow and sly.

"What if it closes?"

"Then I open a new one."

And so they stepped through the gateway, together.

* * *

"Something is horribly wrong with this world," Merlin said.

Mad king Uther's purges had slain many magic users and condensed their power into a few newborn children: Merlin himself, the lady Morgana, and Sir Mordred, son of Cerdan and the youngest knight of the Round Table. Merlin had received the lion's share, of course, but the other two sorcerers were very strong in their own right. As time passed, magic returned to Albion, one birth at a time, and the great imbalance was slowly rectified, bringing a new balance to the land and the people.

Here, the purges had not ceased. Instead the land cried out in pain, a constant cacophony beneath Merlin's feet.

What had happened?

There was one easy way to find out. He raised his arms to the sky and called out: **_O DRAKON! E male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!_**

By his side, Sir Gwaine waited patiently; he had heard the dragonlord's call many times, and knew its meaning well.

They waited. After several minutes, the great dragon's silhouette appeared above them, and Kilgharrah descended and knelt before Merlin.

"You are not _my_ young warlock," Kilgharrah rumbled. "Who are you, Dragonlord?"

"Merlin, son of Balinor, as you know. What happened here?"

"I do not understand."  
Merlin had crossed wits with his own great-uncle, his father's blood-brother, many times; he knew this dance of half-truths well. "Who reigns in Camelot?"

"Arthur, son of Uther."

"Who leads the druids?"

"There are many chieftains of the druids; among them are Iseldir, Ruadan, and Lochru, but they die so often that not even I can remember them all."

"Hm," said Merlin. In his own world _he_ was lord of all the druids in Albion, and all the sorcerers beside, and his place at Arthur's right hand echoed magic's place in Albion: the shield of all who bore hope in a peaceful future. But this world's Merlin had not yet taken up his rightful due, and from Kilgharrah's words, the druids suffered for the lack.

"What of the lady Morgana?" Gwaine asked, eyes narrowed in thought.

"The witch has been cast out," Kilgharrah hissed. "Her evil will threaten Camelot again and again, until at last she brings all to ruin – unless you slay her."

Gwaine and Merlin exchanged a long look. In their own world, the lady Morgana had been one of her half-brother's greatest supports, and had thrice saved his life.

"And Sir Mordred?" Merlin asked, though he suspected the worst.

"Hope's end!" Kilgharrah lifted his head to the sky and roared. "He will destroy this age of peace and tranquility and slay Arthur, as I have told your counterpart many times." The dragon's voice grew sly. "Yet you, my lord, have a stronger spine than the young warlock I know. You are capable of destroying both the witch and her minion, and so you might save Albion's golden future."

Merlin and Gwaine exchanged another look. A future built on the death of magic was no goal of Merlin's, and he knew Gwaine knew his heart well on this matter. "One last question," Merlin said. "Where is Aithusa?"

"I know not," Kilgharrah said with a sniff. "She is capable of flight and feeding herself; it is not our way to coddle the young."

"Very well. You are dismissed," Merlin said with a flap of his hand. This Kilgharrah, even more malicious than their own, would be no help to them, and Merlin had his own ways of travel.

"That went well," Gwaine said when the dragon had gone.

"He didn't light anything on fire," Merlin agreed. "It could have been worse."

"How much of that was true?" Gwaine said, his head tilted in thought.

"He doesn't know where Morgana, Mordred, or Aithusa are, and my counterpart hasn't unified the druids," Merlin said. "Beyond that…"

"Uther and Balinor imprisoned him here too, didn't they."

Merlin nodded. Their world was close, not quite the same but – had he made different choices, this world might have been his own. The Kilgharrah he knew had held grudges against not just the fathers but also the children: Arthur, Morgana, Merlin himself… at least, until Merlin had cleared the debt in full.

"What now?" Gwaine asked. "Who do we seek out next?"

Merlin tilted his head and looked to the sky. Aithusa had not come at all, and she _would_ have if she were capable. Worry beat at his heart. "First, we find Aithusa."

Given the choice, he preferred to crystal-gaze, but the Lake of Avalon was close at hand and was sufficient to serve as a scrying font. Gwaine stood guard while he looked across the land – but there was no trace of the white dragon he had called forth from the egg. At last Merlin took out a knife and slashed his fingertip. A single drop of blood fell into the lake, and he tried again, calling out in the dragon-tongue.

**_Aithusa!_ **

Darkness, and pain, and a dragon's pitiful cries.

Gwaine clasped his shoulder while he wept. "Where."

Merlin didn't know, but it didn't matter; magic would take him there. He put his hand over Gwaine's and recalled the transport spell Morgause had once used. The winds swept them away.

Darkness, indeed; they were in a pit. Merlin's heart broke at the sound of Aithusa's whimpers. He called a ball of light to his hand with a thought –

"Lady Morgana," Gwaine said, and then he struck their chains, Aithusa first and then Morgana, his enchanted blade flashing brightly as it encountered Amata-forged steel.

Merlin knelt and gathered Aithusa's head into his lap. Her wings were twisted, and her throat damaged, but she clung to him with love and trust as he did what he could to heal her wounds.

"Who are you?" Morgana said with wonder. "Merlin would have left me to rot."

"I hate this world already," Gwaine said. "Merlin?"

Merlin gazed up into the dark. "This was the Sarrum's doing." In his own world, he had slain the man years ago. In this world – well, there was always the present.

He raised a hand and called the lightning. Albion's power coiled through him and around him, all the magic of the land begging for him to command it. Through the crackling he could hear Morgana's sharp gasp.

Merlin clenched his fist. Stone shattered, the ground rumbling as the tower above them fell. Lightning stabbed through the darkness above them as the oubliette's ceiling fell in, but with a thought Merlin brought the stones crashing down towards them to a halt.

He turned. Morgana was staring at him, emaciated and dirty, blinking in the sunlight. "Emrys," she whispered.

"Did you not know?" Gwaine asked as Merlin lifted them all up out of the oubliette, Aithusa curled around him. Merlin didn't hear her answer – the Amatans were upon them, crashing down like a wolf on a fold of sheep.

But Merlin was not a sheep at all. Lightning burst out in a halo from his hand, not just a line but a storm, chaining from mail shirt to mail shirt through vulnerable, fleshy hearts. Around them, the Amatans all dropped dead as the lines of lightning fizzled out without further targets to seek.

Stillness reigned in the wreckage of Amata.

"I must have words with my counterpart," Merlin said as he petted Aithusa's poor scarred head. His magic whispered down her nerves, bringing healing with it.

"What a terrible alternate dimension," Gwaine said. "Wait, how do you think the ale is here?"

"Awful, I'd assume," Merlin told him, and with a wave of his hand the winds took them back to Avalon.

As the lake stretched out before them and the whirling winds deposited them on solid ground, Morgana took two steps to the shore and knelt, dipping her hand in the lake and looking up into the cloudy sky. "I'm free," she whispered, and then she turned to Merlin. " _You_ freed me."

"I did," Merlin said. "Does that surprise you?"

"I thought you hated me."

"How could I? The magic chose us both."

Her eyes widened. "And the dragon?"

Merlin bowed his head, hiding his face in Aithusa's scales as she helpfully curled around him. "I called her forth from the egg. She is kin."

"Doesn't she normally… talk more?" Gwaine asked. He had a point. Their Aithusa was a chatterbox with a thousand and one opinions on everything under the sun, which she was always happy to inflict on random passersby.

"She's injured," Merlin said as he ran a hand across her snout. If only he could go back and kill the Sarrum again and again, and more painfully. "I'm doing what I can, but –"

"You're a weapon, not a healer," Gwaine murmured, echoing Merlin's words to Arthur long ago in their own world.

"Yes."

"You're Emrys," Morgana said, her eyes still wide in the sunlight. She looked terrible, like she'd been stuck in that hole for months if not years – "You're my doom."

"'Doom' is just another word for fate, my lady," Merlin said as he rose with one last pat to Aithusa's head. "And fate is something we make for ourselves, every one of us." He looked to Gwaine. "You'll protect them."

Gwaine nodded. Merlin's magic curled around him and Aithusa too, weaving protections and alarms just in case. Morgana was still weak from her time in captivity, but Merlin knew she was more capable than anyone in Albion save himself, and they apparently had a history of unpleasantness in this world. It was better to be safe than sorry.

His counterpart was not difficult to find; he apparently served Arthur as a common servant, of all things. Merlin stole him away from the middle of a deserted hallway.

"What – who – why?!" the other Merlin cried, and then he turned and saw the lake and Aithusa and ran to her, falling to his knees before her. Aithusa purred to see him, a rumble deep in her throat. And then the other Merlin lifted his head and saw Morgana staring at him. "You!"

"Be still," Merlin commanded him. "Honestly. What is _wrong_ with this world?"

"Ongoing genocide, apparently," Gwaine said. He turned back to Morgana. "You don't have to forgive him–"

"He tried to kill me!" Morgana cried out.

"And I have saved you," Merlin said. "The debt is paid."

"Wait, what about my debt?" The other Merlin asked.

" _Your_ duty is to the magic and the sorcerers of Albion," Merlin ground out. "Why are you still a servant?"

"Er." The other Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. "The dragon said–"

"Kilgarrah never speaks more than half the truth," Merlin told him. "Your fathers imprisoned him, and if he cannot claim the debt from them, he will claim it from the children, you and Morgana and Arthur alike – in suffering, and the destruction of any good you might create." He knelt down and ran one hand along Aithusa's snout. "He abandoned Aithusa to imprisonment without care or concern; do you truly believe he is your friend and means you well?"

The other Merlin stared at him. "Who _are_ you?"

"Allow me to introduce Merlin, son of Balinor, the last Dragonlord, Emrys of the Druids, and the High King of Albion's right hand," Gwaine said jovially. "Also, the best friend a troublemaker could have, although he does tend to strand you in alternate dimensions every so often."

"You love it," Merlin said with a smile. "Now. Our time here grows short. You must make your peace."

Upon the shore of the lake, the silver ring of light glowed open, a tear in the fabric of reality. Merlin took Gwaine's hand and led him through. On the shore, the other Merlin and the lady Morgana looked at each other, each with a hand laid tenderly upon Aithusa's scarred hide.

"Do you think they'll work it out?" Gwaine asked as the silver portal winked closed, and they stood on a half-rotted floor at the top of the Fisher King's tower.

Merlin smiled. "Yes. Oh, yes." His counterpart had been misled, and now he _knew_ he had been misled. Merlin knew that he himself was often fond of hopeless causes, though he hated being lied to. And his counterpart was likely similar. "They just needed… direction."

Sir Gwaine and Lord Merlin returned to Camelot that evening, their afternoon's adventure concluded, and the future stretching out bright before them like the moon shining full in the south. And back in that world they'd visited, the future gleamed a little brighter as well.


End file.
